YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRIZE  POEM 

1901 


1901 


IXION 


BY 


WIUJAM   BRIAN   HOOKER 


NEW   HAVEN 

THE  TUTTLE,  MOREHOUSE,  &  TAYLOR  Co. 
1901 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

This  poem  received  the  fourth  award  of  the  prize 
offered  by  Professor  Albert  S.  Cook  to  Yale  Uni- 
versity for  the  best  unpublished  verse,  the  committee 
of  award  consisting  of  Professor  Henry  A.  Beers, 
Professor  Lewis  E.  Gates,  and  Mr.  Robert  U.  Johnson. 


IXION 

My  wheel  turns  and  I  turn  unendingly 

Amid  the  wreck  of  souls  to  whom  remain 

No  hope,  no  wish  but  one — the  wish  to  die, 

The  longing  of  the  dead  to  die  again. 

The  sights  I  see  would  blast  an  earthly  eye, 

The  horrors  I  hear  no  tongue  may  put  in  words  ; 

And  all  around  me  roars  the  rage  of  gods — 

Turning  eternally  in  endless  pain. 

Above  me  a  great  blackness,  like  a  cloud 

At  midnight,  swaying  and  breaking  into  bulks 

That  hurl  across  each  other  as  a  wind 

Drives  mass  on  mass  against  the  thunder-storm. 

Anon  it  opens  cavern-deep,  and  shows 

Behind,  dim  gulfs  of  greater  dark  ;  anon 

It  closes  inward,  smoothly  domed — no  sound 

But  never  still.     Under  me  lies  the  floor 

Of  Hades,  ribbed  and  ridged  and  chiseled  out 

In  curious  figures,  like  the  sand  of  the  sea. 


And  now  and  then  it  breaks,  and  Tartarus 

Flares  forth  in  flashes  of  pale  flame,  and  screams 

Come  from  beneath,  and  crowds  of  shuddering  sparks 

Rush  upward  as  in  terror  ;  then  a  surge 

Of  billowy  smoke,  tinged  red  with  fires  below, 

Floats  up  and  merges  in  the  gloom  above, 

And  the  crack  bites  its  lip,  and  the  wails  are  hushed, 

And  Hades  turns  to  its  own  toil. 

I  look 

Upward,  and  wonder  where  our  old  earth  lies, 
How  far  beyond  that  veil  of  angry  dark — 
Farther  I  know  than  heaven  above  the  earth  ! 
Yet  I  am  linked,  bound  by  some  deathless  chain 
To  earth  and  life.     The  long  full  summer-time 
Faints  into  autumn,  and  the  wintry  blast 
Howls  down  the  wold,  but  wakes  no  answering  sign 
In  these  grim  skies — and  yet  I  feel  that  frost 
Deep  down  within  myself.     I  feel  the  spring 
Steal  onward  with  warm  winds  and  blossoming  smells, 
Pale  baby-leaves  and  breaths  of  hidden  bloom. 
Somewhere  far,  far  above  me,  violets 


Grope  down  their  roots  in  the  soft  earth,  and  turn 

Their  tiny  faces  to  the  sun,  and  smile 

Through  tears  of  dew — I  trod  on  violets  once  ! 

Somewhere  a  wind  stirs  in  the  cypresses, 

And  the  owl  hoots  and  the  moon  pales — I  once 

Held  death  in  scorn,  a  thing  too  far  to  fear. 

Somewhere  broad  roses  open  wide  at  eve, 

Bare  their  rich  bosoms  to  the  breeze  that  faints 

Caressing  them,  and  shake  their  leaves  and  laugh, 

And  all  the  dimness  maddens  like  new  wine, 

And  nymphs  peep  out  between  the  boughs,  and  songs 

Come  faint  across  dark  water — oh,  to  be 

One  moment  what  I  once  was  !     Oh,  to  hear 

The  whisper  of  the  woods,  and  see  the  thorn 

Snow  down  her  sweetness  on  the  green,  and  feel 

The  music  of  the  spring  beat  in  my  blood, 

And  the  fresh  odors  leap  into  my  brain, 

And  know  naught  ill,  a  child  with  a  child's  eyes 

One  moment  !     Once  I  deemed  myself  a  god, 

And  now — my  wheel  turns  on  unendingly 

Amid  the  wreck  of  souls  to  whom  remain 


Nor  life  nor  death — nor  death  nor  life  have  I, 
The  very  spouse  and  paramour  of  pain  ! 

The  rage  of  gods  ! — What  are  the  gods  to  me  ? 
I  have  moved  among  the  gods  a  mortal  man, 
Dwelt  with  them  on  Olympus,  felt  the  clouds 
Bend  to  my  footstep,  seen  the  sun  flash  by, 
A  blinding  car  with  Helios  at  the  reins. 
I  have  seen  the  moon  close  by  me  in  the  night, 
And  heard  the  singing  of  the  stars  at  dawn, 
I  half  awake  among  the  slumbering  gods. 
Do  I  not  know  them  wholly  ?     Ah,  my  Queen 
Of  Heaven,  one  deathless  moment  mine  in  spite 
Of  law  and  gods  and  Fate — have  I  not  known  ? 
How  amber-bright  shine  all  those  distant  days 
Even  to  my  dizzy  thought !     I  seem  to  see 
Amid  that  eddying  blackness  overhead 
Olympus  with  its  floors  of  gold,  its  walls 
Of  amethyst  and  opal,  shining  clear 
In  the  sweet  light  that  floats  above  the  world  ; 
And  round  the  board  the  faces  of  the  gods 


Glad  with  dark  wine,  as  I  beheld  them  first 

New  raised  among  them.     Zeus  dome-browed,  serene 

With  unresisted  empire,  hugely  calm 

Like  Ocean — yet  I  noted  even  then 

The  subtle  brands  of  fear, — the  drooping  lip 

Behind  his  beard,  the  spectre  in  his  look, 

That  marked  him  more  than  god  but  less  than  man, 

Coward  omnipotence  ;  Athena,  bright 

With  panoply,  the  gorgon  Aegis  hung 

Before  the  frory  splendor  of  her  breast  ; 

Artemis,  white,  shadow-eyed,  tremulous  ; 

And  Aphrodite  born  of  sun  and  foam, 

That  bride-face  dewy-dim  with  tenderness, 

That  softly-yearning  ecstasy  of  form, 

So  beautiful  her  beauty  made  me  faint, 

So  sweet  her  sweetness  almost  bent  my  will 

And  shamed  me  downward  to  humanity, 

Until  I  thought  of  Smyrna's  son — and  laughed ; 

And  turned  to  where  She  sat,  my  goddess-queen, 

My  full-blown  Hera,  blooming  a  red  rose 

Amid  the  Olympian  lilies,  richly  dark 


With  congregated  sweet — and  saw  the  day 
Turn  summer  moonlight  in  her  dusk  of  hair, 
And  all  the  feverish  south  pant  on  her  lip — 
Thereafter  gods  and  men  I  held  in  scorn, 
Accepting  all  my  fate.     I  know  the  gods, 
Not  as  pale  priests  and  raving  oracles, 
Not  as  weak  women,  dazzled,  worshiping, 
But  as  a  strong  man  knows  a  stronger  man, 
Nor  fears  nor  worships  him — stronger  than  I 
Or  else  I  were  not  here ;  unearthly  fair 
Or  I  had  not  gone  mad.     Why  was  I  born 
A  spirit  greater  than  my  strength,  a  soul 
That  could  love  utterly  but  could  not  fear  ? 

Then  passed  long  days  of  calm  divinity, 

I  moving  on  unfaltering  in  my  will 

Void  of  all  fear — how  could  I  fear  ?     I  loved — 

Setting  against  the  wisdom  of  the  gods 

My  human  craft,  against  their  watchful  sight 

The  flame  of  my  desire.     The  eye  of  Zeus 

Ranged  over  earth  and  heaven,  and  read  the  hearts 


Of  men,  followed  the  courses  of  the  stars, 

And  bared  the  secrets  of  the  scheming  gods, 

But  saw  me  not.     And  at  the  last  we  met, 

Hera  and  I — night  on  the  Sacred  Mount 

Deep  with  the  stillness  of  eternity, 

The  stars  above  us,  and  beneath  our  feet 

A  great  storm  roaring  out  across  the  sea, 

A  pregnant  hush  all  round  us — face  to  face 

We  stood,  and  all  my  soul  rushed  out  in  speech. 

I  know  not  what  I  said.     I  scarcely  knew 

I  spoke,  but  vaguely  wondered  at  the  sound 

Of  my  own  voice.     I  ceased.     And  then — and  then 

My  goddess  melted  into  womanhood, 

My  Queen  bent  down  from  deity  to  me, 

Clung  in  my  arms  with  her  great  eyes  on  fire 

A  moment — then  our  lips  closed,  and  my  heart 

Staggered  into  my  ears,  and  the  stars  went  out, 

And  the  heavens  rocked  around  us,  and  the  dark 

Grew  gleaming  green,  and  for  one  breath  we  hung 

Poised  in  the  soul  of  a  great  emerald 

Shot  through  and  through  with  lightnings.    Then  a  voice 


Amid  the  throbbing  blindness  of  my  brain, 
Calm,  small,  and  cold,  and  seeming  far  away — 
The  voice  of  Zeus. 

And  then  I  feared  him  not — 
I  cursed  his  calm  face  while  they  bound  me  here. 
Lord  Zeus,  the  jealous  husband  !     Is  it  his, 
His  all  the  empire  of  the  spaces,  his 
The  joys,  the  woes  of  worlds?     I  know  you,  gods — 
Thieves,  perjurers,  adulterers  are  ye  all. 
Hark  to  my  supplication,  blessed  ones  ! 
I  would  stretch  forth  my  hands,  but  they  are  bound- 
Hear  my  repentance — in  thy  teeth,  O  Zeus, 
The  scorn  of  him  thou  hatest ! 

Was  it  my  sin, 

Beautiful  gods,  to  know  you  overwell? 
What  have  I  done  that  others  have  not  done 
As  ill  or  worse — Sisyphus  the  arch-thief 
Heaving  his  stone  with  groanings  up  the  height 
Endlessly,  foiled  and  mocked  at  the  very  goal — 
What  is  the  labor  of  men  but  such  as  his? 

8 


Tantalus  the  god-soiler,  grasping  at 

The  vain  fruit,  stooping  to  the  falling  wave, 

Teased  into  madness,  laughing  hideously — 

What  is  the  pleasure  of  men  but  such  as  his  ? 

They  but  relive  their  lives.     I  turn  and  yearn 

Bound,  futile,  helpless  body  and  brain — no  task 

However  vain,  no  joy  in  sight  to  seek 

However  vainly — only  round  and  round, 

And  every  passive  limb  is  strained  and  stung  ; 

Still  round  and  round  ;  and  all  my  thought  grows  drunk 

With  motion  never  ending,  and  the  dark 

Is  full  of  horrid  eyes  that  whirl  like  wheels, 

And  whirling  wheels  that  glare  like  horrid  eyes, 

On  every  wheel  a  dumb  Ixion,  bound 

And  bleeding,  longing  for  the  lashing  flames 

Of  Tartarus  that  smother  sense  in  shrieks. 

And  all  the  wild  wheels  whisper  as  they  whirl, 

A  sound  like  kisses — and  the  whisper  grows  ; 

And  Hades  rocks  and  totters  to  the  sound, 

And  swells  and  orbs,  a  globe  of  tremulous  gloom, 

And  shatters  into  whirling  nothingness. 


My  wheel  turns  and  I  turn  unendingly 
Amid  the  wreck  of  souls  to  whom  remain 
No  hope,  no  wish  but  one — the  wish  to  die, 
The  longing  of  the  dead  to  die  again. 
The  sights  I  see  would  blast  an  earthly  eye, 
The  horrors  I  hear  no  tongue  may  put  in  words  ; 
And  all  around  me  roars  the  rage  of  gods — 
Turning  eternally  in  endless  pain. 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS536  .Y12p   1901 
yr 


L  009  539  198  3 


of  CALIFORNIA 
AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


